A breath taken in of unsurpassed purity
a draught let loose, unfit, tarnished and defiled
a step stridden past in unrivalled dignity,
a distinct heart beat of divinity's own child.
A human is defined by such trifling mechanism
of two dirigible edifices within a mundane man,
of a throbbing, muscular and incessant bosom
of sanguine veins ferrying, since sentience began.
And a woken mind riddled with thoughts galore,
a human is merely an imprisoned creature
within a mortal cage of uproarious furore
behind bars of ivory, a blanched skeletal feature.
We are frail and mere governable puppets,
sentiment being the enduring thread of betrayal
destiny, the callous controller of marionettes
and we, of this abysmal truth, are in eternal denial.
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Poesía#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016